


The Rogers Files

by TickleMeRogers



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marble Hornets
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, He was alone for the first part of his life so like, M/M, Murder, NSFW, Oops, Panic Attacks, Schizophrenia, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, it's going to be a long one, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-05-02 08:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TickleMeRogers/pseuds/TickleMeRogers
Summary: Tobias Erin Rogers. AKA Ticci TobyMissing at the age of 16.Disorders: Schizophrenia, C.I.P.A, Tourette Syndrome, PTSD~This is a personal headcannon rewrite of Ticci Toby. I'm aware of the details of the original story. This will be long. There will be other characters rewritten.





	1. Shadows

_Fuck this._

Toby threw his pencil at his laptop.

_Fuck literally all of this._

Burning yellow light poured over towards his messy bed, casting odd shadows along the side wall of his room. His notebooks creating the rough ground of an image that danced around whenever he shifted his weight on the bed. He was restless. Nights were never easy for him. Days were never easy for him, either. Living in general was just never easy. The blinking line on his screen pestered him to answer the extended math problem pulled up, but he just didn't feel like listening to it. What the fuck did it know. It was just a little fucking line on the screen. It couldn't tell him what to do.

The boy turned his gaze to something less annoying, his hands. The light carved deep shadows into the folds of his skin, illuminated when he twitched slightly. It was an impulsive reaction. He felt like he could stop it, but it was like an itch. It just was more sudden and harder to ignore. He _had_ to move his hand like that. His head like that. He had to do it, or he felt like his body would explode. He had come to ignore them, seeing as they would never get better. If anything, they had gotten worse over the last few weeks. The accident really fucked with his head. It made him feel helpless, fucked mentally. He hated not being in control, especially over his own body. Toby was many things: mentally unstable, physically injured, probably insane. However, he wasn't weak, and he didn't want anyone thinking he was. It was probably for the better, then, that he was pulled out of school months before. Actually, fuck, it had been almost a year since he was in school. He didn't miss it. If any of his classmates had seen him twitch like this, they would make him eat dirt over it. Not that that ever made any sense to Toby, but not a lot of things did, and he honestly didn't mind adding that to the fucking list.

He was getting frustrated. Or he forgot to take his meds. Fuck it, it was probably both. He was the least put together person he knew, which wasn't saying a lot considering the only people he saw daily were his parents. Things didn't used to be this bad. He used to be happy. They used to be a family, or at least pretended to be. The only thing that kept them together was Lyra. The moment whatever fucked up God these people worshipped took her away, everything went to shit. His parents stopped acting like they gave a shit. Toby stopped trying to keep the peace. In all fairness, it was probably always like the chaos it is now. Lyra was just a really good big sister who had gotten good at hiding all of it from Toby. She did a lot of things for him, and he never got to repay her for that.

The sun had set hours ago, but he couldn't manage to settle with it. If anything, he was more active, more on edge. It had been like this for the past few nights, progressively getting stronger. He wanted to go outside, wanted to walk around, but he knew he couldn't do that. His father wouldn't let him downstairs, let alone outside. Though, there was a window. It _was_ an option… but not one he was willing to take. He didn't know why he wanted to go; it just ate at him. An intrusive thought, telling him it would all be better if he just left, never came back. Maybe he would go to Hogwarts. Maybe he would die. Both were pretty badass options, in all honesty. Either way, he wouldn't be here, and that was all Toby could hope for as he dragged himself off his bed and over towards his personal bathroom. It was a fucking mess, like the rest of his room, and he liked it that way. He didn't want it to be clean. He wanted to lose shit. He wanted a reason to get frustrated, pissed off. He wanted the anger. Was it healthy? Fuck no. But he wanted it anyway. The light was busted, so toby just stumbled around in the dark, running his hand along the counter to see where his toothbrush had ended up after last nights rage. After retrieving it, and his poor toothpaste that had just been crushed and twisted to hell, he began trying to take care of himself, going over the mini routine him and Lyra did every night before bed. It was stupid. It was childish. And it was about the only thing keeping Toby sane.

They said that recovery would be slow and painful. Well, they said it wouldn't be easy, which is basically them just telling Toby to go fuck himself. The memories would slowly fade, the nightmares would get better. No one said anything about the ticks getting stronger, or the voices in his head getting louder. No one told him that he wouldn't crave spaghetti anymore, or that the light would be more irritating than normal. No one told him that his shadow would move when he didn't or that the house would creek louder at night. Fucking doctors couldn't just be honest with him. It's like they enjoyed watching him come into therapy every week sobbing his eyes out about every new symptom until the tears stopped working and the only thing that got them to up his doses were lies about what he was seeing and hearing at night. About the figure that kept stalking him wherever he was, no matter the time of day. He could go on about the aches and the pains, the new speaking problems he was having… until they weren't lies anymore. Until _he was_ scared to sleep, until the voices DID start getting smarter, louder. Until the streetlamp outside started to house more than just the stray cats of the neighborhood. Until he struggled to get out the words to explain any of this. Now, he was nearly mute, but he never had to admit that. Therapy was just them lecturing him at this point. He didn't have friends to struggle to communicate with and his parents didn't do much more than bring him food and ask him how his schoolwork was coming. He didn't have to admit he was suffering or have to find a way to function normally with the problems he had because it was just him…

Always just him. Not her anymore. Not them anymore. Not "Us against the world" anymore. It was just Toby. Locked in his room. Waiting for the shadows to come to life and choke him out.


	2. Locked Doors

The hallways always felt longer after a nightmare. The house stretched and twisted to make Toby drag himself farther than he had the energy to. Her room was just down the hall, but every inch of the floor and walls were hiding demons, waiting to reach out and drag him back into whatever hell he had woken up from. He wasn't usually scared of the dark. He spent countless times sneaking through the house after everyone went to bed. It was the only time that Toby could eat or relax anywhere other than his room. His dad was usually so drunk at night that he wouldn't notice if food went missing, or he would think he ate it the night before. It was kind of funny and gave Toby an excuse to eat all the sweets and some good fucking food.

Toby had no problem quietly sneaking through the hall once he got the courage to move. He had perfected the ability to be completely quiet and quick. It was natural to him at this point. He didn't have to focus on it at all. Lyra had learned to keep her bedroom door unlocked between midnight and 2am, when the nightmares usually hit. Outside of that, she kept her door locked no matter if she was in there or not. It was an agreement that her and mom had come up with. They both understood that dad could be a little unpredictable at night, and Lyra was a "growing woman who needed privacy" during the day. They trusted her, basically, and she was trustworthy. She didn't do drugs, sneak out, sleep around. She was athletic, pretty, kind, devoted to school. Nothing like Toby. But they got along perfectly because of it. No one from the upper-class bothered Toby back when he was in school because they all wanted a chance with Lyra and fucking with him meant she was completely off the table. It was a shitty reason to not bully a kid, but it made sure that the only halls Toby had to fear were the ones at home. The ones that left splinters in his cheeks when he was thrown across them, that carried the angry voices of his parents up to his ears after a report card came in. 

Toby stuck to the middle of the hall, his small weight on his big frame didn’t cause the floor to creak that much, and Lyra’s door handle was in his hand before he could register the cold chill he always got that something was behind him, waiting to attack. Pieces of cheap metal sheets poked his fingers as he eased his way through the doorway, letting his toes find their way onto the soft carpet of his sister’s bedroom floor. It was fluffy and white, with a cushion under it so you could just… curl up on it and fall asleep without a problem. Darkness had swallowed the room up, only avoiding the alarm clock on the nightstand that blared ‘4:00am’ in red. 

Her room felt separate from the rest of the house. Closing the door solidified him entering a different reality, a small little section of space that only he and her ever lived in. He was safe here. It was home. She was home. Her walls were decorated with paintings, trophies, and photos of her friends. Her whole life plastered on the edges of the room. Over her bed, a cork board with small polaroid films and notes stuck in it. Bags of sand and dirt from their favorite beach, a broken twig from the tip of a redwood tree, and scraps of a pirate flag from a _real-life pirate ship_ littered their memory board. This one was nicer and bigger than the one in his room, but she was always the more sentimental one. Him being so detached from objects bit him in the ass later in life, but he didn’t think everything would go to hell like it did. Whatever. He was exhausted. After securing the lock, he stumbled across the room, falling into the beanbag near the window. His phone charger, a cosmic brownie, and some Monster was already set up on the window’s edge, and he took a moment to admire the view of the street from his perch. This room was his tower top, the street was his kingdom. He ruled it. Ruled the neighborhood. They were at his mercy.

“Losers,” escaped his lips in a chuckle as he turned his attention to his phone. He found comfort in the lame ass game that apparently "every kid your age" was playing, or whatever his therapist had said. He watched the pixel zombies fumble across the screen, his thoughts fading into mental static, the edges of his vision going fuzzy as he kept his eyes strained on one fixed point on the screen. He lost track of time as he advanced through the levels seamlessly. 

He hated stupid little games like this, but he wasn’t allowed anything more entertaining. Apparently, some uptight parents had started a whole thing about “violent video games lead to violent children” or something. Toby thought it was bullshit. This stupid mobile game would drive him insane to the point of murder before Medal of Honor did, but no one would listen to him. His mother was scared Toby had "tendencies", and his therapist would rather be safe than sorry. Kary wasn't a bad lady, and she was definitely more worried about him than his parents were, but he was still a little pissed that she restricted him. For the sake of his mental health or not, it was lame as fuck. He wouldn't have even had Kary if his sister hadn't pushed his parents to invest in Toby's mental health, anyway. There was an… incident a few years back, and it really put things into perspective for Lyra. They were close before, but she went full blown mother to him after, and full drill sergeant to his parents. It was nice at first, but then his diet and lifestyle changed, and he got just a little irritated.

After a few rounds, Toby's body began to feel heavy, like the beanbag chair was consuming him. The wind outside started to pick up, rustling the leaves loudly. It irritated him. The streetlights flickered, making Toby’s eyes adjust to the stark brightness of his phone every time the darkness grew closer. He was painfully aware of the silence in the room, sleep trying to tug at him, but it felt… full. Usually sleep was empty to him. He just drifted into nothing for a few hours in Lyra's room. Nightmares didn't follow him here. But now, it felt like sleep had something hiding behind it, the wall of black that consumed him had depth to it, and it was terrifying. Orange and red floated across the dark canvas, paving way to faint images that didn't seem normal… 

Long, outstretched lines waved almost like they were alive, not threatening, but not giving him any comfort. The colors avoided certain parts of the darkness, making tall, black sections of nothing scattered across his vision. They began to shrink and grow, moving farther from his point of view. It was odd, and Toby began to mentally list through all the medication he was on and what the fuck symptom this could be. Something was preventing him from opening his eyes, forcing him to watch these colors take forms he didn't think he could imagine on his own. The stage stretched back and started to take on solid form, and Toby's heart sank as he realized he was completely immobile, his phone loosely clutched in his hand and his feet going numb from the weight of one another. He couldn't feel his body in the seat anymore, but he was still sitting upright, he thought. The inside of his eyelids finally created a fuzzy picture: details of the trees began to take shape, fog covering the grass at their bases, a human figure in the distance, the long spiraling lines now moved from one singular point, the origin hidden in the fog. 

None of this had Toby really panicking, despite the bizarre hallucination before him. He had this before, but never this clear. Maybe it was a new symptom? He could get used to it, he guessed. It wasn't something he was thrilled about, but maybe he should let his doctor know that the new medication was fucking with him hardcore. At this point, no new symptom really shocked him. He was just waiting for one of them to finally kill him. Maybe this was it. Maybe his body would involuntarily go into shock and he would die of a heart attack, content with the stupid Plants vs Zombies music in the background of his slow and painful death…

But he couldn't hear it…

The music wasn't there. 

The wind in the trees wasn't there either, but the silence was gone too. Instead, he could only hear what he assumed to be radio static. Very distant radio static, just on the edge of his hearing so he had to strain to try to find anything within it. There was nothing there, and that was probably what spiked his heart rate. He started to take notice of everything again. He couldn't feel the lower have of his body, his butt and the back of his thighs were uncomfortable, feeling like there was pressure against them and it nagged him. He hated whatever that feeling was. His neck was stiff and strained, his eyes felt stuck in place, tears streaming down his cheeks. Was he fucking crying? He wasn't sad. Depressed, yeah, but not sad to the point of tears. Fuck, he didn't even know when the last time he cried was. He started to become hyper aware that every part of his body was uncomfortable, irritated. He was itching to move, to get out of this position he assumed his body was frozen in. He could picture himself: sitting upright in the beanbag, phone playing faint music in his hand, ankles crossed with a brownie and crumbs scattered across his lap. His eyes probably rolled into the back of his eyes, tears rolling down his face. Hell, maybe his mouth was open, and he was drooling like an idiot. That would be pretty funny to see. 

He sat there, stuck in his position for what felt like minutes. He didn't really care, he just let it happen. It wasn't something he could control, and he was ready for it to take him. But, it didn't. The image began to fade, the sound slowly getting louder as one of his senses faded. Once he was settled into the darkness again, his started to regain feeling in his body. The beanbag was uncomfortable against his skin, it almost felt wet. His body, thankfully, started to tick and twitch again so he didn't have to try to force himself to move against his body's will. It wanted to move. It always wanted to move, even when he didn't want it to. The inside of his mouth was dry, his throat scratchy. His eyelids were stuck together, crusty and he was sensitive to the light when he opened them. The window frame came into view, and Toby took in every detail as it appeared. He was almost depressed that he had to come back to reality, but content with the fact that at least it was Lyra's room. His vision drifted down to his body. He was sweaty. He could feel the moisture, the front of his shirt soaked through and sticky. His hair was wet, his palm was stuck to his phone, and Toby had to spend a few seconds uncomfortably peeling the case of his phone off his skin. His chin was tight from dried drool.

Jesus Christ. He wanted to know how long he had been in that position, but the sun that was sitting atop his neighbor’s house told him everything. He had sat there, completely upright, drooling, for at least a few hours. That was… new. And terrifying. 

Toby leaned back in his chair, thinking over everything he had just witnessed. His memory kept going back to the person. It was a man; he knew that in his gut. Someone else who could see the… thing. The thing with the weird arms flailing around, but he didn't seem scared of it. He kept getting a rush of this familiar feeling. He knew the man, the man knew him, and they both knew the tall thing. It knew them. 

It _definitely_ knew them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, I'm so sorry. If you don't, do it. You're a coward if you don't. TickleMeRogers on tumblr.


	3. One More Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter is rough and all over the place and I know it. I've had a rough medical month. Next chapter is when Toby starts to snap. Chapter after that is Toby snapping, and then we get Tim and Brian in the mix. I've been really into writing the parts that Jeff come in at, which are probably going to be around chapter 10. Yeet.

The first night home from the hospital wasn't difficult. Toby was so exhausted from all the final tests and paperwork that he didn't even have the energy to find pain in the hollow feeling of his childhood home. If he hadn't remembered the accident, the silence of the house wouldn't have been any different than it was before. It was so late, and everyone was usually asleep. He remembered, though. He could still hear the metal crunching, the final gasp from the driver's seat, the dead silence from when he blacked out. The house felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for Toby to scream so it could scream with him. His bones felt stiff, either stuck from laziness or pure depression. Both were probably true, and he didn't care enough. He hadn't bothered to go down for dinner, and neither of his parents came to try to get him. It may have been the first time that his father hadn't come up to yell at him over not doing what he was expected to.

_This is what it took for you to leave me alone?_

The ceiling of his room had an annoying popcorn texture that his mind tried to make shapes and faces out of. The shadows in the edges of his room twisted in the corner of his eyes, cast back by a small night light his mother had put in his room. He didn't need it, but he didn't stop her from plugging it into the outlet by the door. It helped her, he knew that. Finally taking care of him made her feel like she was doing something to cope with the loss of Lyra, like she actually cared about her to begin thing.

An hour passed before he started to let himself exist in the room. He had disassociated into his thoughts, his mind going nowhere but it wasn't there. His eyes seemingly staring at the ceiling, but finding something to gravitate to much farther than that.

The doctors told him that the accident would make this current problems worse. Toby didn't think much of that at first, but he was starting to let himself feel the effects of it. He always felt like he could hear someone talking to him, but it was never apparent until he realized it after. Like someone trying to get your attention with your headphones in. He felt like, If he could just listen past the odd buzz of reality that always seemed to be there, he could hear it. He could hear voices, some whispering and some screaming. Not knowing what they said drove him crazy. The headache that followed from straining that far was not worth this shit.

 

_________________________________________________

 

_I can't sleep when the sun is up._

That's what he told himself as he laid in bed, staring at the rays of sun poking through the blinds.

_It's just the sun._

He had been awake since five in the morning. He watched the sun rise. Somehow, it made him feel safer, even if he was exhausted. The last few weeks, the same nightmare had been plaguing him. He barely could call it a nightmare, though. It didn't scare him, only confused him. The woods, the wet smell of leaves decaying. The wind was so loud he couldn't head his own screams, not that they were that loud anyway. There was something covering his mouth, something always covering his mouth. No matter what he did, he couldn't control his body. He was just walking. It felt like him in the dream knew where he was going, and it would be really nice if Dream Him would tell Real Him where the fuck they were venturing off too every fucking night. At some point, Toby couldn't tell if the dreams were real or not. He got so familiar with the area he would walk in that he could almost convince himself that he was sleep walking. He started checking his clothes for dirt and that musky smell every morning, which was stupid. He didn't own clothes like that. He couldn't remember the last time he worse jeans, ever. He had been sporting sweatpants since he never went out anymore. Whatever lame jacket and leather buckles decorated his body made him feel more like he was from Assassin's Creed that just casually walking in the woods at night. He didn't own that shit.

_Does Dream Me have a bondage kink or something?_

He let himself nitpick the outfit he was sporting in his dream until he felt his own drool drift down his cheek and onto his arm. It was fucking gross, but he didn't usually care that much. He was a mess as it was. Barely showered, barely ate. He mostly kept himself locked in his room. He was safe there. His dad had become more violent as he started to cope with losing the only child that he didn't see as a disappointment. He barely left the "Den" as his mother called it. It was just a random room that they never used. He was pretty sure his parents wanted a third kid, but gave up after the shit show that was their second child. Whatever. At least he would inevitably be successful in being the last of his blood line. How is that for a disappointment, jackass.

Toby sat himself up slowly, trying to take it easy on his concussion that was still fucking up his whole way of life. He knew he had homework to do, but he kept using the excuse of his head hurting too much to focus. It wasn't really a lie because he really did feel like shit. However, he didn't really feel bad enough to do homework. Truth be told, he was a really smart kid. It was one of his downfalls when he was in public school. He just didn't feel like doing his shit, or was scared of suddenly finding out that he got dumber if he got a bad grade back. He beat himself up over it, and his dad just straight up beat him for it. It was fine. This was fine, he guessed.

Without much thought, Toby reached for his phone, looking to see if anyone had tried to contact him. He had a few emails from his school program, and a good fifty something emails from various chat forums he would troll at night. That lifted his spirits a bit.

But… when he reached for his phone, it started to make a weird buzzing noise. He paused, holding his hand just over the screen. It was…. Weird. Like the sound of two microphones too close to each other. Interference? From his body? Well, that was new. He moved his hand back a bit, and the buzzing started to fade with the distance. Closer, and it started back up again. Was his phone going to blow up or something? Fuck it. Sweet release of death, here I come, right?

Toby snatched the phone up, and it felt uncomfortable in his hand. His hand and arm felt stiff, then it just… disappeared along with the buzzing. He turned the phone over in his two hands, trying to see if it was fucked up at all. It seemed like it was okay, but he screen was flashing with a "system too hot" warning.

" _What the fuck?!_ "

The voice didn't come from outside, but rather in his own head. It wasn't his voice, though. It was higher in pitch, and definitely had a weird accent. Whatever said that sounded like a hard twink, and there was no convincing Toby of anything different. He dropped the phone, letting it tumble a bit across the carpet as he looked around the room. He knew there was no one there. He slept with the door locked, and is definitely came from inside his head. He was going to be pissed if he had a fucking split personality disorder or some shit. Could different personalities even talk to him? Jesus Christ.

That voice consumed his thoughts most of the day. His phone never made that weird sound again, but seemed to be fucked up after it. It lagged and glitched, typed things he didn't type, or generally just fucked up. He didn't feel like telling his parents that it was fucked, so he just abandoned it in the bedroom and settled onto the top step of the stairs, listening to the front door shut as he father left for work around noon. He couldn't be back until late tonight. Probably fucking his assistant, even though his mother was pretty hot. He was also just generally a shit person who probably kicked puppies and raped little kids so what could you really do?

He book in Toby's hands was more of a fidget item than it was an escape at this point. The cover was torn and worn, the details of the drainage grate on the front were textured from the countless times Toby had carved over them with a pencil. People had said online that this book gave them nightmares, general fear of literally anything. It didn't do much of make Toby lose his faith in humanity. He had read it a thousand times, and never had trouble sleeping after because of it. Maybe you had to be scared of losing something or someone for the book to matter to you. In that case, it makes sense that nothing had come for Toby from the shadows yet. It was bored of his depressed ass. Maybe it already took what he loved, he just was never graced with a face of the killer.

 _You're the killer_.

It probably wasn't true, and his therapist said it wasn't. But, it felt good knowing at least someone was to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a twitter now. @TickleMeRogers.


	4. Good Goodbye

_ You’re going to die here. _

_ Why aren’t you running? _

Shut up. Please.

_ These people don’t need to take care of you. It’s been a day, and you’re already a burden. Not even a day. It's still night outside, right? _

_ Fuck. _

Was he a burden? The grumpy man seemed to really like him, regardless of what the angry guy said. He seemed to be fighting for Toby, fighting in a way that Toby has never seen before. Was this a bad thing? Did all adults do this? 

It felt like too much was happening at once, and yet nothing was physically going on. Toby was dressed in clothes he didn't recognize, clothes that were much bigger than his frame was used to. He smelled faintly of smoke and chemicals he couldn’t place, mixed in with a sharp smell of hickory and pine. He was sure he looked like a wreck. He was slowly  suffocating, his throat was swollen up just enough to make the back of his head hurt. 

Toby found himself on the stairs again, somewhere that seemed to be more like the seats of bleachers  for any and every argument between parents, regardless of the house. He was getting tired of these kinds of spectacles. Parents needed to get their shit together.

_ Hold up.  _

Parents? Is that what they were? They argued like ones, but they didn’t… sound as angry as parents did. He didn’t even know how these two people knew each other. Truth be told, he didn’t know how many people were in the house either. He only knew he woke up in a bedroom that was barely put together: A bed, a dresser with no mirror, a tv, and some water. He thought he woke up in his room for a moment, maybe his parents had stripped the room of everything he owned in order to punish him for whatever he did this time. But Toby had heard talking from down the hall, and instantly recognized that he wasn’t home anymore. He had a moment of panic, a moment of feeling like he had to run or he wouldn’t make it out alive, but it didn’t last long. When he noticed that he was wearing clothes that weren’t his, but fresh clothes straight out of the dryer, he didn’t feel like he needed to run. Someone took the time to change him, to clean and bandage the wounds on his arms. Someone cared. 

This both terrified and comforted Toby in a way he had never felt before.

Toby dragged himself out of bed and shifted around the clothes on his body until they felt right. A flannel fluffy shirt and sweatpants? Was he taken by lumberjacks?

Toby was snapped out of the comedic mental image by a very low but terrifying voice. “Hey, kid?” 

It was the angry one that said it. Toby was sure he had heard what the man’s name was at some point during the conversation, but it never stuck.

Toby’s bare feet felt like they sank into the carpet of the stairs as he crab walked down them, only standing upright when he hit the bottom step. He still had part of a wall on his left to hide behind before he had to face… whoever these people were. From what he could tell, they weren’t in the living room, which meant they were in the kitchen and could be armed with knives. Toby caught a quick glance at the front door across the hall before the same voice called him again. 

“We aren’t armed, kid. Relax. You can come in.”

Followed by a very irritated, “Brian!”

_ Brian. That was his name. _

Toby felt deflated as he inched around the corner. 

_ So this guy knows I’m on edge. Who the fuck does he think he is? _

When he finally got his eyes on the kitchen, he was a bit thrown off by what he saw. The kitchen was… nice. Not crazy fancy, but cozy. Bread and butter boxes, kitchen towels with bears on it, place mats on a massive island counter in the middle of it all. He felt his shoulders drop as he took it all in, finally recognizing the people in the room. They blended in so well with the house, he didn’t even see them at first. Closest to him was a shorter man, he assumed the softer voice of the two. His hair was pushed back, with some bits still falling over his forehead. A loose t-shirt and jeans fit his body pretty well, and he was fidgeting with his wedding ring. 

_ He is married. That’s why he is so grumpy. _

Toby spoke too soon, though. The other man, standing on the opposite side of the island to both of them, was way worse. He was much taller than both of them, and clearly the owner of Toby’s current clothes. His hair was way shorter, his jawline much stronger, and he actually sported facial hair. This man was dangerous, and Toby didn’t trust him. 

_ This one is Brian.  _

Brian was leaned against the counter behind him, eyes fixed on Toby. He came to the realization that him and Brian were wearing almost the exact same thing. 

_ Huh. Twinning. _

“I need to change your bandages.” The shorter one said, moving back to the other side of the kitchen. Toby jumped the moment the man moved, only relaxing when he saw that he wasn’t moving towards Toby. He instantly put his hand up to his cheek, feeling the tension when he opened his mouth in a question. He thought he tasted something weird, but he brushed it off. Now he realized he was definitely tasting blood and cotton. 

Brian stood up off the counter. “What’s your name, kid?”

Toby hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight. He struggled to get air out of his throat. “I-I....uh… T-Toby.” His voice was rougher than he remembered it being, and his jaw shook uncontrollably. 

_ How long had he been out?  _

Brian glanced over at his friend, giving him a look Toby couldn’t figure out. Honestly, this man seemed to have the kind of face that didn’t give away anything. Toby felt that. 

“Toby Rogers?” The short man turned around from the cabinet he was sifting through.

Toby nodded. “H-h-how did you kn-now?” He usually wasn’t this bad verbally. Why was he shaking?

Brian let out a sigh and motioned towards Toby. “Tim, just… clean him up.”

_ Tim and Brian. Pretty boring names. _

Toby watched as Tim slowly made his way around the counter. He limped a bit as he rounded the corner, but he didn’t appear to be wounded. This struck Toby as odd, but he tried not to think much of it. He took a step back as Tim neared him. “Don’t t-t…,” His tongue got stuck behind his teeth, and Toby sighed before trying again, “touch me…” He didn’t mean it to come out as a threat, but it did, and Brian instantly went on guard when he registered it. 

Tim felt it without even looking at Brian, and held a hand out to a stool tucked under the counter. “Sit, Toby. I need to change your bandage or it won't heal properly.” His voice was stern, but gentle. He didn’t know people could speak like that. He wasn’t scared, but he knew he should probably listen. To be fair, this was their house, and they controlled Toby for the time being. 

Toby inched over to the stool, pulling it out and sliding himself onto it as quietly as possible. The two men seemed to notice Toby’s instinct reaction to stay quiet, and both dropped their shoulders at the same time. 

Brian rounded the counter, heading behind Tim and up front towards the living room. Toby lost sight of him as Tim carefully removed the tape from the side of Toby’s face. 

It must have thrown Tim off that Toby didn’t react as he touched the rough edges of his dangling skin, because he paused and looked Toby dead in the eyes. “Does that hurt?”

The boy blinked as he made eye contact with Tim. “I...uh…” He resorted to shaking his head, being verbally cut off by Brian. 

“C.I.P.A.” Was all he said as he came back into the kitchen, holding a small folded blanket. 

Tim wrinkled his eyebrows and Toby echoed his confusion, “What?”

“Congenital Insensitivity to Pain and Anhidrosis,” He laid the blanket across Toby’s lap slowly, “Meaning he can’t feel pain, or temperature change.” Brian leaned against the counter behind Tim, “Judging by your minor stutter and blinking patterns, and the fact that you’ve nearly punched my husband several times by accident just sitting near him, I’d say you also suffer from Tourette’s Syndrome.” He talked like a doctor, and it made Toby’s hair stand on end.

Tim snorted a bit as he went back to working on Toby’s cheek. “Is that your professional opinion, Nurse Thomas? Or did you go snooping for someone’s medical files.”

Brian actually grinned at this, and it made Toby feel comforted to know that this guy could--

Wait.

_ Husband?!  _

Toby jolted a bit, this being the final thing that snapped him back into reality. “I...w-wait…” He paused for a moment to try to focus on everything going through his head. “You can’t d-do that. I-Is-Isn’t that--”   
“Illegal? Technically yes. But I’m not that worried about the officers from  _ Colorado _ coming here.” He said Toby’s home state with an odd tone. 

Toby wanted to question Brian’s tone, but a tension in his cheek forced his jaw shut and he flinched. Tim pulled away instantly, muttering out an apology. It took everything in Toby to not backhand the guy, but he knew that any kind of violence would mean Brian would have his ass in a grave, and Toby wasn’t ready for death. At least, not yet. 

After he managed to settle down his nerve a bit, Tim went back in on his cheek. 

“What month do you think it is, Kid.” Brian looked over Tim’s shoulder at him.

“Uh...N-November?” He knew that was right, but he still wasn’t sure. The way he asked made him question everything. 

The look Brian gave him told him everything he needed to know, though. He was wrong. 

_ Fuck. What the hell is even going on. _

“Am I dreaming?” Toby mumbled against the irritation in his cheek. He honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Some of his dreams were obvious. He knew there was no way his floor in his bedroom was a trampoline. But other ones… not so much. Sometimes he swore he could spend entire days there, not really noticing anything was wrong. It threw him off whenever he woke up, but he couldn’t wait to wake up from this one.

_ Well… could he? _

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to hang here for a bit.

Tim snapped in front of Toby’s face, making him jolt a bit. “Earth to Toby, come in, son.”

_ Son _ .

That hit different. That hit really different. 

Toby locked eyes with Tim. “Huh?”

Brian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Tim gave Toby a small grin. “It’s December, Toby. A week before Christmas.” 

Toby didn’t process everything right away. “Oh...uh...M-merry Christmas…” He looked between the two men, who both let out a snort.

“No, Toby,” Tim chuckled,” Well, yeah. Merry Christmas, but that’s not what we are talking about here.”

Toby stared at him for a moment before resting his eyes on Tim’s shirt collar, letting his vision space out. “Wait…”

Brian nodded. “You’ve been missing for over a month, Toby. And, on top of that, you somehow ended up over 1,000 miles away.”

Toby looked up at Brian, his jaw hung open a bit in shock. “W..wh...where am I?”

Brian gave a glance to the back of Tim’s head before returning his gaze to Toby, dropping his sarcasm for a moment. “Alabama… Toby, you somehow ended up in Alabama…”

Tim snipped at the stitches he was working on. “But your wounds are fresh like they happened yesterday.”

Brian shrugged. “Both of us know The Boss doesn’t make sense. That’s the  _ least _ of my concerns right now.”

“Don’t bring him up right now. Let the kid breathe. Brian. He is just a kid.” Tim huffed and wiped Toby’s cheek.

Toby drew his brows together. “I… w-what?” He leaned back from the men a bit, swatting Tim’s hand away as static overwhelmed his brain. “I’m sixt-teen!” He wasn’t about to be treated like a fucking child by these assholes too. 

Brian finally stepped around Tim and placed a firm hand on the teen’s shoulder. “I know, and we will explain this to you soon. I shouldn’t have thrown all that on you-“

“-You’re always pushy when it comes to crap like this-” Tim interjected, making Brian set his jaw in frustration. Their banter somehow calmed Toby’s anger in an instant.

“....-when you’ve just come too.” Brian finished his sentence with an edge, “Just… let’s get you properly showered and fed… okay?”

Toby felt a weight drop into his stomach when he Brian said that, finally realizing the situation he was in. “My parents…?” He barely got the words out in a whisper, eyes dropping down to his hands. “Gasoline...I s-smell like g-g-....g….“ His brain struggled with the word, and Toby shut his mouth in frustration. 

Brian rubbed his thumb into Toby’s collarbone. “I know, Toby. But, the good news is, you didn’t get burned.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took ten years to get out. My laptop decided it didn’t exist anymore and I just got a replacement today. Hopefully chapters will be out faster now and I’ll always be starting the other story in this series soon, so yeah. Sorry again.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep up with me on Tumblr and Twitter @TickleMeRogers


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